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Saturday, May 10, 2008

Sonnet CXXXI

My pills are batteries, so black and new.
They live inside my musical device –
their lovely case – and cure my pains anew.
They pleasurably thus anaesthetize,
their potency well-harnessed. Without rue,
so easily, accessibly, comprise
the power driving all those soothing tunes,
which hypnotize and petrify my life.

Sedated happily each night and day,
I’m neither sad nor glad – just in between.
Around me, lovely, aural visions laugh and play,
still keeping rhythms, volumes at a mean.
And carefree, drugged with sound in youthful grey,
I’m lonely, happy, lost, and strangely free.

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A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!